"Why, so I will, Martin. A course to Nombre—aye, verily! 'Tis said one Sir Richard Brandon lieth 'prisoned there. Ha—having quarrelled with daughter you speed away to sire—"
"And what then?" said I, scowling.
"Nought, Martin, nought in the world, only if in this world is a fool—art surely he, comrade. Nay, never rage against your true friend, comrade; give me your arm, let me aid you up to my cabin, for your legs are yet overly weak, I doubt."
CHAPTER XVII
TELLETH THE OUTCOME OP MY PRIDEFUL FOLLY
The moon had not yet risen when, in despite of Adam's warnings and remonstrances, I set the great boat-cloak about me and stepped forth into the stern-gallery of the ship, whence I might look down and behold the dark loom of the longboat, a gliding, glimmering shadow upon the white spume of the wake.
Now if there be any who, reading this my narrative, shall cry out against me for perverse fool (as I surely was) to all such I would but say that though indeed a man wild and headstrong by nature and given to passionate impulse, yet I was not wholly myself at this time by reason of my wound, so that the unlovely and gloomy spirit of selfishness that possessed me now had full sway to rule me how it listed; and I would have this plead such excuse as might be for this my so desperate and unreasonable determination, the which was to plunge me into further evils and miseries, as you shall hear.
"So you are determined on't, Martin?" said Adam, standing beside me where I prepared to descend the short rope ladder.
"I am!"
"Lord, Martin, there is so much to love in you 'tis pity you are so much of fool—"